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A warrior named Fuse Yajiro grew ill in the spring, and by autumn he was dying. He wrote this poem:

Before longI shall be a ghostbut just nowhow they bite my flesh!the winds of autumn.

After Writing this poem so full of nostalgia for life, Fuse Yajiro recovered somewhat and lived on for another month. Something must have changed his mind about death, for in a mood of greater detachment, he wrote another death poem:

Seen fromoutside creationearth and skyaren't wortha box of matches.

—from Japanese Death Poems: Written by Zen Monks and Haiku Poets on the Verge of Death (Tuttle, 1998).